


Everlong

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adorable John, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Asexual Sherlock, Asexuality Spectrum, Consentual underage assisted masturbation (that could be an album name), Developing Relationship, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hesitantly romantic Sherlock, Hurt John Watson, John Loves Sherlock, John Watson's dad is abusive, John is a Saint, John is fifteeen, M/M, Mummy Holmes is an angel, Nervous Sherlock, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pan romantic john, Protective John, Relationship Negotiation, Reluctant sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock is 13, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock-centric, Teenagers are cruel, Underage Drinking, Underage assisted masturbation, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's mother has a friend whose son needs a tutor. Sherlock is pushed into it. John is...different. </p><p>Slow burn? Quite possibly. We'll just have to see. </p><p>Want to know what falling in love for the first time feels like? Turn off the lights, close your eyes and put on Everlong by The Foo Fighters. And think of me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nice To Meet You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Sherlock was pacing the floor, pulling at his cuffs and muttering to himself. He couldn't believe this was happening. His mother was killing him, literally killing him with this. He'd met Mrs Watson multiple times, and her loud husband as well. The two of them were obnoxious at best. He'd never met the children, Harry and John, but he didn't need to to know that the son of a drunk and a codependent would be trouble. He'd probably have an attitude. He'd be one of the lot who teased Sherlock at school. 

Sherlock looked at his watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes and growled. He hated when people were late, and John was very late. He was almost afraid the boy would stand him up. He'd left for the library twenty minutes early just so his mum would leave him alone, and then the army brat wouldn't even show. Typical. He was just about to walk out the door when a small voice came from behind him. 

"Excuse me, are you Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock spun on his heel and stared down at the shorter blond boy. "What if I am?" 

"Then I'd have to apologise. Football practice ran late." John said. 

Football. Of course. Not only was he an army brat, but he was a jock too. Perfect. 

"Well I am, so you should. Waste of time getting here early." Sherlock said rudely. 

As rudely as possible if he was true with himself. Most times people wanted to run away from his rudeness. He was hoping for that. Instead of running away John did something unexpected. Something...different. He smiled. 

"Hello Sherlock, I'm John, sorry I'm late. Bet you hate me already." The boy said, glowing. 

"Maybe." Sherlock mumbled. 

"Well let's get to work, and afterwards you can tell me how I can make it up to you."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at that. What could John Watson possibly do to make it up to him? He turned and walked to the small soundproof room he'd scheduled for them and set down his rucksack. John tossed his bags on the floor and got out his maths book, paper and a few pencils. He sat gingerly and smiled up at Sherlock patiently. 

Sherlock sat down across from him and took the book in his hands. They went to different schools, and John was a few years ahead, so they wouldn't have the same books. He flipped through the pages and sighed before slamming the book closed and setting it down. 

"I'm on chapter twelve. Do you think you can help me?" John asked. 

Sherlock almost lost himself in the lines on John's brow but shook himself in time and looked away. "No, sorry. You're a total loss. Tell those parents of yours you'll never be a doctor." 

John was silent for a moment, and when Sherlock looked back he was sure he was going to find a scowl. That or get hit. Both were strong possibilities. John was grinning. Why was John grinning? 

"How'd you know? Really, how'd you know? I haven't told them yet. I haven't told, well anyone." John implored energetically. 

"This book is for a class you aren't even taking yet, A levels none the less, but you're doing the work. You have two books on medicine in your bag, and you've written the names of three more on the back of your notebook. Your phone has a list of SAT II info on it, and your word of the day is meretricious. Meretricious, two more syllables than your classmates ever use. Anything else and I'd have expected you to have scrawled 'Doctor Watson' in fancy font all over your notebook too." Sherlock said quickly.

John sat back in his chair with a huff. 

"What?" Sherlock asked when he remained grinning but didn't say anything. 

"Brilliant. Just, bloody brilliant. Can I have my mobile back?" John asked, not even sure when Sherlock had filched it. 

Sherlock blushed slightly and handed it over. He hadn't planned on returning it, but saying he knew what was on it had given him away-wait, had he said brilliant? 

"Brilliant?" Sherlock asked, voice cracking a bit. 

"Well, yeah." John replied, looking his mobile over and stuffing it back in his pocket. "Why?" 

"No one's ever called me brilliant." Sherlock replied. 

"Now you're lying." John said, grin going lopsided. 

Sherlock found himself looking at his smile again. "Well, of course I'VE been called brilliant, it's just my, erm, deductions haven't." 

Nervous. When had he become nervous? 

"Deductions? I like the sound of that. So, Mr Holmes, can you help me or can't you?" John said playfully. 

Sherlock sighed robustly for show and shook his head. "If I must."


	2. Follow Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get a soft drink. It's just a soft drink.

After two hours of working relentlessly Sherlock noticed John looking at his watch. "We should break here." He said, sitting back. 

John looked surprised, but closed the book and started to pack his things. "So, when can you tutor me next?" 

Sherlock hadn't thought that far ahead. He didn't think he'd do it once, let alone that John would want more of this. He scratched his head and tried to go over what he was doing the rest of the week. 

"If you have the time, I mean." John added nervously. 

Nervous John was almost as enticing as Impressed John. He bit his lip and looked on hopefully as Sherlock stared at his mouth. Sherlock looked up suddenly and tried to come up with an excuse. 

"Tomorrow." He said. 

Tomorrow? Why had he said tomorrow? He was busy tomorrow. Fuck. Fuck fuck bugger. He'd have to cancel his experiment. He'd never done that before. What if John didn't want to see him so soon? They hadn't covered much ground in two hours. What if John didn't think he was helping enough? What if John thought he was a bad tutor? What if John asked him to do his homework for him? What if-

"Yoohoo? Sherlock? Where'd you go?" John teased, waving his hand in front of Sherlock's face. 

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked. 

"I said I'll see you then." 

And John was smiling again, beaming, radiating sunlight. Brilliant. 

\-----

The next day after they'd worked and set another date-meeting, meeting, Sherlock followed John out. Sherlock didn't have to go home yet and something made him want to spend more time around John. Before he knew it they were down the front steps and standing in the street. Sherlock was about to beg off with some lie about having something to do when John spoke. 

"Want to get a soft drink?"

No, don't do it. You're smart when it comes to books, but you'll make a fool of yourself soon. Keep the chitchat to a minimum. 

"Sure." Blasted. Fuck. 

John smiled and led the way to the corner shop. They walked in and made their way to the cold drinks. John picked out a cola and stood back. Sherlock looked around frantically, wondering what impression a lemon lime would make. Undecided? Frivolous? Ginger ale. Yes, good old ginger ale. No, be daring. Hmm. Grapefruit. Yes. Daring. He snatched the grapefruit triumphantly and walked to the front. 

John grabbed two bags of crisps and lay some cash down before Sherlock could reach for his wallet. Sherlock grumbled but the man behind the counter seemed to know John, and they were talking, so he didn't interrupt. John said goodbye to the man and they grabbed their things and left. 

When they got outside John took off his trainers and socks and tossed them in his bag. He ran his toes in the grass and smiled up at the sky. Sherlock was about to tell him he shouldn't have paid for his drink when he handed him a bag of crisps and some folding money. 

"What's this?" Sherlock asked. 

"Money from my mum. For tutoring me." John replied, putting his bag over his shoulder and opening his crisps. 

"We could have split it." Sherlock scolded. "Think next time." 

John chuckled and tossed a crisp in his mouth. "Walk to the creek with me?"  He asked, lips curling upwards. 

Sherlock nodded and they began their walk down the hill behind the shop. The sky was bright and the sun shone through the leaves of great oaks and ceders. John walked merrily ahead and Sherlock jogged to keep up. How a boy with such short legs managed to out distance him was beyond Sherlock. 

When they came down to the creek bed John lay his things in the grass and rolled his jeans up. Sherlock watched as he tiptoed into the water. 

"Jesus, fuck it's cold!" He yelped, hopping around in a circle. 

Sherlock laughed, not noticing that it was the first time he had laughed in a very long while. "Then get out, you tit!" 

John smiled widely and danced in the water, making Sherlock laugh harder. 

"Take off your shoes! Come in!" John urged. 

"This from the person who can't stand still because it's so cold." Sherlock scoffed. 

John stood still for a second and then shivered and started hopping around again. 

"Come on, Sher, it's not so bad! It'll get your blood flowing!" He begged. 

Sherlock, who rarely did anything without being forced to, untied his shoes and removed them. John started clapping while he set his socks in them and rolled up the bottoms of his trousers. He stood and walked in confidently. 

"Holy!" He yelled, running out again. 

"Ah, come on! If I can do it you can!" John teased. 

Sherlock walked back in and began hopping around like John. 

"Why are we doing this again?" He asked, coins jingling in his pocket. 

"Blood flow?" John asked. 

Sherlock laughed and John shrugged his shoulders. After what was much too long a time they ran back onto the grass. Sherlock flexed his toes to make sure they still worked, as they had become numb, and sat down. John sat next to him and picked up his drink and snack, passing Sherlock his crisps and smiling at him. 

"Why did you follow me in?" John asked quietly. 

"Because you asked. Why did you invite me here?" Sherlock asked back. 

"Because I like your company." 

Sherlock looked at his drink and turned the crisp bag over and over in his hands. 

"Problem?" John asked. 

"No." Sherlock whispered. "No."


	3. Wholeheartedly Courageous

After laying in silence for a short while enjoying the warm afternoon Sherlock became antsy. He got up and walked over to the water, looking down at it but not seeing. His mind was flashing warning signs. It told him that sixteen minutes of silence between two people who have only recently met was a bad sign. Bad. It told him he was boring John. It told him he should go home. 

"What's your school like?" John asked, snapping Sherlock from his frenzied state. 

"Hmm?" He asked, turning to the boy and finding himself yet again transfixed. 

"Your school? What's it like? Never been to a public school." John said, twisting a leaf in his fingers and looking up at the sky through the leaves.   
He looked relaxed and wholly unconcerned with the lapsed sixteen minutes that had so worried Sherlock. His face was calm, dappled in sunlight, and Sherlock was both jealous and content. It did strange things to his stomach. John's eyes met his and his eyebrows knit together. 

"Dull." Sherlock said quickly, trying to cover that fact that he'd been staring. Again. 

"Dull? I thought it'd be interesting. Don't all you posh kids know six languages and do Tai Chi?" John asked playfully. 

Sherlock walked back over and sat down. 

"Seven, and fencing. It's dull though. Just a bunch of rich prats doing whatever mummy and daddy want. No one has any real interest in the academics. No one cares about learning. It's all about what they'll do this weekend and whether they'll get plastered." Sherlock said bitterly. 

"And what are YOU doing this weekend?" John asked. 

Sherlock, who'd never had a friend, let alone had someone ask what he was doing that weekend stuttered loudly. "E-e-experiments." 

That was...impressively embarrassing. No, really, he'd outdone himself that time. Now if there was only a rock nearby that was big enough for him to crawl under he could die in peace. 

"What sort of experiments?" John asked, rolling onto his front and looking sincerely interested. Strange. 

"I have a few going now. Rate of decomposition, level of acidity, etc. Mostly looking into what happens to animal tissue after death." Sherlock said, frightened by his own honesty. 

"Sounds gross." John replied. 

Sherlock nodded. It wasn't as bad a response as he'd expected, but it was still...disappointing. 

"Maybe I'll come over some time. Check it out." 

Sherlock looked up in surprise to find that John wasn't making fun of him. He looked genuinely curious. It gave him a strange feeling in his chest. A bit of electricity running through him. Warmth in places that had remained cold for as long as he could remember. He was drunk with it. He went on wholeheartedly courageous. 

"What about you? What are you doing this weekend?" He asked. 

Victory! Conversation with a human being! Victory! He'd stuttered and been honest and made a fool of himself and he hadn't melted! Fireworks went off in his brain and he had the sudden urge to touch John's wrist. Just to feel what kind of heat he put off. It must be exquisite. 

"Nothing so exciting. Going to some stupid party with some guys from the squad." John replied. 

Defeat! Defeat! Silly boy had forgotten who John was. John was handsome, and funny. He was kind and open, and easily athletic. He was sunshine and honey and marigolds and...and...damn, when had he started thinking like this? 

"You could come if you want. I'm sure it'd bore you though." John said. 

Sherlock didn't know exactly what to make of this. Had his mother paid this boy to be his friend? Was this all some secret babysitting venture? What was going on? He'd known the boy for two days and he was being asked to a party? 

He tried to wrap his head around it. He'd been himself for the last thirteen years, and he'd NEVER been asked to a party. Not one. He hadn't changed, but obviously something had. It must be John. Wonderful stupid John. Why was John doing this? Why did John even want to be his friend? 

For the second time since John had known Sherlock, he was left wondering what was going on in the boy's head as he drifted off in space. He smiled and waited, eager to see how long it would take him to come back to himself. Fifteen seconds in all. 

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" John asked. 

"Why would you want me to go to the party?" Sherlock snapped. 

"Look, I just thought you might want to go. I didn't mean to offend you or whatever." John said, pulling on his socks and feeling more than a little rebuffed. 

Sherlock picked up on it and tried to fix things. "I didn't mean to be...skeptical...out loud. It's just, I don't have many friends. People find me a bit, abrasive." 

John smiled gently and placed a hand on his shoulder. "People are idiots."

Sherlock smiled back and rose with John as he did so, as to not lose the contact. John brushed off his trousers and got his things. 

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked. 

"Yeah." Sherlock said, looking on sadly as John walked away. 

"See you then." John shouted over his shoulder, disappearing up the ledge. 

Sherlock sat down in the grass and fished around in his bag for his mobile. He turned it on and typed out a message. 

WAS INVITED TO A PARTY   
SH

He received a response a while later, mobile buzzing on his chest as he looked up at the leaves. 

ABOUT TIME. GIRL? BOY?   
MH

BOY. SOMEONE I'M TUTORING.   
SH

INTERESTED?   
MH

Sherlock set the phone down and thought about it. He'd never been 'interested' before. He wasn't sure if that was what he was feeling now. He knew what Mycroft meant, but he was different than his brother. He was different, he'd gathered, than most. 

INTERESTING   
SH


	4. Absurd

The next day Sherlock sat in front of the library waiting for John. He didn't show. He didn't show at five past. He didn't show at ten past. He didn't show at all. Sherlock didn't know what had happened, and suddenly realised he didn't even have John's phone number. At an hour past he stood and started his walk home. 

It was a longer walk than usual, proving the theory of relativity. Sherlock could only think on one thing. He needed to know why John hadn't come. 

Had it been something he said? Was it how he reacted to being asked to the party? Was all of this a sham? How could he have possibly gotten himself in this far after less than a week? 

He was visibly shaking when he got home. He walked upstairs to his room and set down his bag, flopping on the bed and trying to calm his breathing. The room was spinning and his brain was stuck in a loop. Nothing new, but this time it mattered. He had to find out what he'd done and never, never do it again! 

There was a knock at his door and his mother spoke through the thick wood. "Phone call dear." 

He clenched his hands until his fingernails bit through the skin, and stood, opening the door and grabbing the phone. 

"What?" He asked angrily. 

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and he became quickly aware that not only did he not know who was on the other end, but he didn't get phone calls. He just didn't. He talked to Mycroft on his mobile, but they both preferred to text. He'd never gotten a phone call when it wasn't his birthday, and those were all from family anyways, so they don't count. 

"Sorry, who is this?" He asked, voice a bit softer. 

"Um, it's John." A quiet voice said. 

John? Which John? Oh, John? John didn't sound like that! Not his John. He was full of energy and positively glowing even when he knew he'd been wrong. He was a ball of light. This voice was...broken. 

Something in Sherlock snapped and he walked into his bedroom and closed the door. 

"Where are you?" He asked. 

"Parking lot. Near my house." John replied. 

"Address." Sherlock insisted. 

John gave him the address and Sherlock hung up his phone. He told his mum he was going to the library and she smiled and patted him on the shoulder absent-mindedly. He ran down the hall way and out of the house, not stopping until he made it to the main road and found a cab. The driver made him show the money before he would drive anywhere, and Sherlock waved the bills in front of him angrily. 

It took ten minutes to get to the grocery, and Sherlock bound from the car, immediately rounding the corner. He found John sitting under a tree and holding an ice pack to his face. He honestly thought he might vomit. John looked like a crumpled up piece of paper. Like he'd been discarded. Sherlock wanted to light the world on fire to find who'd been so flippant with such a fantastic thing. Fantastic John. 

"What happened?" He asked, pulling the ice pack away to assess the damage. 

John winced and squeezed his eyes shut. "Ah, nothing." 

"Nothing my arse! Whoever hit you almost broke your cheekbone!" Sherlock said, letting go of his hand and sitting on the asphalt next to the older boy. 

"Just got in a bit of a fight with my da. Nothing new, just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for not coming to our session." John said, not meeting Sherlock's eyes. 

Sherlock couldn't believe that he'd been so angry at John earlier. He'd been pissed off and John had been injured. Christ. He tried to grasp what was left of his courage from the previous day and wrapped his hand around John's. John's body stiffened, and then relaxed. 

"What was the fight about?" Sherlock asked quietly, rubbing his thumb over John's knuckles and hoping he was doing well in his first foray into friendship. 

John sighed, seeming to weigh whether or not to tell Sherlock. He looked around the empty lot. They were alone, it wasn't a main street, and the whole area was in a quiet sort of mood. John took a deep breath, gripped Sherlock's hand and looked up into the trees above their heads. 

"I haven't told anyone. It's just." He began. 

Sherlock nodded and moved a bit closer, hoping that a little body heat would help the whole painful process along. He'd never had a friend, never had anyone to confide anything to. All his secrets had been expertly read, often before eve he knew them, by his brother. 

"My sister Harry came out to my parents." John said quickly, as though forcing the words out all at once would take the sting away. 

"So your father hit YOU?" Sherlock asked, confusion knitting his brow. 

John crumpled forward and stared at the ground. 

"He blamed me. Said I'd given her ideas." He said quietly. 

"Ideas about being a lesbian?" Sherlock scoffed. "What, like picture books on vaginas? Do they have pop up ones too?" 

John's body stiffened and Sherlock shut right the hell up. 

"I'm gay." John hissed. "Somehow he thinks that because I'm gay I gave her, I dunno, gay propaganda." 

"Well that's ab-"

"Absurd? Yes I know. But that's the world I live in right now. And I can't tell anyone because I can't be outed at school." John said angrily. 

Angry John was a whole other-well that should be looked at another time. Right now he needed a friend, and for the first time Sherlock thought he could be one. A good one. 

"Your dad's a prick!" Sherlock yelled triumphantly. 

"Oi!" John hissed. 

Too much. Okay, reel it in. Got a little overzealous there. Breath. 

"I'm sorry your dad hit you. I'm sorry you can't tell your friends." Sherlock said. 

John leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder and sighed deeply. "At least I can tell one."


	5. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock confesses his...defect with John. 
> 
> I don't think it's a defect, for the record, and neither does John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frightened seems to be the word of the day, oh, young love.

Sherlock did what he could to get John's mind off his home life. He knew what it was like to want to crawl away from reality. He knew what it was like to be broken by the world. 

He asked John if he wanted to come back to his house. Inside he really thought John would say no. He'd never asked anyone to come over. Never done so many 'normal' things that came along with friendship. John looked worried for a second and Sherlock immediately knew why. 

"We'll sneak you in the back. Mummy won't have to see your black eye. I promise you won't have to explain this to anyone else today." He said, rubbing John's back. 

He'd seen mummy do this to friends in crisis. He knew that most people found comfort in human touch. He was honestly surprised that when John agreed to it and stood he felt a little pain in his chest from having to break contact. He could see himself getting addicted to this kind of thing and it frightened him more than he understood. 

John asked if they could walk, hoping that he would be more together by the time they got to the manor. They took a back path, one far away from view and hidden from the road by trees and overgrown foliage. John was quiet for a long time. 

Then something miraculous, and horrible, happened. John took Sherlock's hand. Sherlock knew he should pull away. Knew he should tell John the truth before he betrayed him. It was one thing to promise friendship, but there was a lot Sherlock couldn't give. 

He knew he was....well, not broken so much as wrong. He wanted to touch John, it was the greatest feeling in the world, but that was about it. He wanted to wrap John in his arms and lay with him and comfort him. He wanted to hold his hand in front of the world and never let go. 

He wanted that but he knew it would never be enough. Fifteen year old boys wanted more. They'd never wanted more from him, but he knew from watching and listening that the foremost thing on their minds was sex. 

He wasn't grossed out my the idea, necessarily, just, well, unmoved. He tried multiple times to think of another boy while touching himself to get a reaction. Nothing happened. He knew he was gay because he'd never wanted to touch a girl, never felt the longing. But he wasn't normal. 

He thought for a long time that he didn't have the capacity for love. Mycroft had said it wasn't the Holmes way. He felt that way until quite recently. He was almost embarrassed that John had changed that in him. 

At first he thought he was just overreacting to having a friend for the first time. He'd done some research, thank god for message boards, and found that the things he wanted from John were not 'friend things'. Friends didn't want to hold each other's hands. Friends didn't want to sleep in the same bed. Friends didn't feel like starlight was dancing in their bellies when they were around their friends. 

He was disgusted by his sentimentality at first. Honestly, he was acting like a teenager. Well, he was technically a teenager, but he didn't often feel like one. He'd become accustomed to denying that he was one. He was so put off by the ones that he knew that the idea that he may be the same breed was...disturbing. 

So here he was, lying to John by omission. He really was a bastard. 

They made it to the manor without Sherlock even noticing that he was taking the right turns. He'd been so caught up in memorizing the exact feel of John's hands (rough callused fingers, warm, strong, soft between them, soft, warm, strong) that he hadn't actually used his eyes once. Apparently his subconscious kept him on the right track. How underappreciated a faculty. He made a note to thank it later. 

"This is it." He said. 

When John pulled his hand back he felt ill. Of course. Shouldn't have expected John to want to be seen in public with him that way. Stupid. Stupid. 

John squeezed his hand, seemingly noticing Sherlock's hurt. "Sorry, just, don't want everyone to know. Not yet." 

Sherlock nodded and walked him around back. They went in the back door and wound their way up the stairs to Sherlock's room. When they got inside and Sherlock closed the door John sighed and lay back on his bed. Of course. Now was when he wanted sex. 

"I don't. I mean. I um, can't have sex." Sherlock said nervously. 

John sat up and looked horrified. Of course he did. The situation was horrific. Sherlock was horrific. He should leave, he should leave his own room and let John get over the disappointment. He turned to go and John shot up and grabbed his hand. 

"Jesus, Sherlock! I didn't mean to make you feel like you needed to...I'm sorry."

Sherlock was mad. John was taking pity on him. Fuck. 

"What do you have to be sorry for?" He spit. "I'm the one that led you on, holding your hand and making you think..." 

John looked embarrassed and a flush crept up his neck. If it weren't for the situation they were in Sherlock might have thought it beautiful. 

"Sherlock. I. I like you, okay? But that doesn't mean you have to like me back." John said sadly. 

Sherlock stomped his foot and John looked up, eyes wide with surprise. 

"That's the problem, John, don't you see? I DO like you! I like you more than I've ever liked anyone (which for the record was not a lie. John didn't need to know he'd never liked anyone. Ever.) and I can't make it stop!" Sherlock yelled. 

John smiled sadly and cocked head. "Why do you need to make it stop, Sher?" 

"Because! Because I'll never be enough for you. Jesus, I can't believe I'm saying this. This whole situation is ridiculous! I don't want sex, okay? I want you and I want to be with you and I want to hold your hand and kiss you, but I'll never get hard and I'll never be enough and you'll be disgusted and end up hating me. And I can't lose you! Ridiculous! I've known you for less than a week and I can't lose you!"

Sherlock was shaking now, not at all in control of his 'transport'. He felt like crying. He felt ill. He felt weak and he hated himself. 

"Sherlock! Sherlock breathe!" John was holding him and rubbing his back and his knees almost gave out. "Sher, it's a little premature for you to decide what and what won't be enough for me, yeah?" 

"I don't want, I don't want to lead you on! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Sherlock babbled. 

John shushed him and sat him down on the bed, sitting next to him and brushing away the tears that had fallen unbidden, leaving hot trails down his cheeks. 

"You've done good, okay? You told me what you needed to and I haven't run away. Breathe." John said, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's shoulder. 

Sherlock breathed deeply in through his nose, doing what John asked of him. It frightened him a bit when he realised that he would always do what John asked. He didn't seem to be in control of his own mind anymore. Isn't that scary.


	6. Not Quite Romeo, Not Quite Juliet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realtionship negations and fluff. Oh, the fluff.

After a while Sherlock had settled down and was breathing evenly, head on John's chest and legs wrapped up in the duvet. John carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls and Sherlock wiggled his toes. It was a perfect quiet world, and the real world could go fuck itself for all Sherlock cared. 

"I'm sorry that you came over here because you were hurt and you ended up consoling me." Sherlock whispered, scared his voice would give away exactly how sorry he was. 

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. My face will heal, and keeping you company is helping." John replied. 

"Do you ever think we could be together? I mean, I know this is crazy. I'm aware I barely know you. I'm not going to drink poison or stab myself for you. But I feel like...this is just nice." Sherlock said nervously. 

"You won't be the Romeo to my Juliet?" John teased. 

Sherlock snorted and looked up at the boy. "Hardly." 

"Well I'm sorry you haven't noticed Sherlock, but we are kind of together already."

"No, I mean, oh. Oh." Sherlock stammered. 

"Yes, oh. This isn't normal for me. I don't act this way with my mates. I feel fairly star-crossed at this point, to be honest." John whispered. "We'll go as slow as you need. I just want to be around you." 

Sherlock's throat closed up and he was only able to nod in answer. 

"Is this, is this okay?" John said, twining his fingers in Sherlock's and continuing to stroke his hair. 

"I think this might be the most okay thing I've ever felt." Sherlock said, sighing deeply. "I'm not an easy person to get along with, John. I'm selfish and abrasive, and I'm still figuring myself out." 

"You were rude to me the first second we met. Tried to push me away, and here I am." John replied, kissing the top of Sherlock's head. 

"I'll scare you away." Sherlock said under his breath. He hadn't meant for John to hear, but being this close he did. 

"Try me."

\-----

Mrs Holmes watched the Watson boy leave her house that night with a slight smirk. Things, it seemed, were working out just how she'd planned. She sat down to read and found herself lost in thought. 

She'd always been so concerned about Sherlock. He didn't have any friends his age, and she doubted anyone from his school would step up. Sherlock got teased so badly that no one wanted to be associated with him, and it broke her heart. 

When she'd met John Watson for the first time she'd known he would fit with Sherlock. John was polite and friendly, open and from what she was told by his mother, loyal. He wasn't as bright as Sherlock, but he was smart none the less. He was very much like the golden lab she had growing up, and every boy needed a dog. Oh, Lord, that sounded horrible. Every boy needs a friend. Yes, that's it. 

John just might do. 

\-----

That evening before John left he gave Sherlock his phone number and squeezed his hand. He promised to text when he got home and Sherlock agreed to text back. When he left the house Sherlock got into bed and turned the lights off. 

He thought about John and felt a warmth in his chest. He licked his palm and slipped his fingers below the elastic band of his expensive boxers, trying to coax life into his cock. He thought about John's lips, and the way he licked them when he was nervous. He thought about John's fit body and obvious attractiveness. He thought about how his eyes glittered the other day when he danced barefoot in the water and rolled his bollocks in his hand and, oh! Nothing. Just. Nothing. Fuck. 

He gave up and took his second pillow, wrapping his arms around it and pretending it was John. He could smell John's shampoo on it and suddenly things weren't so bad after all. He felt calm and grounded. His body melted into the sheets and he felt like he could lay there forever. It occurred to him that this was a lot similar to how people described post coital bliss. This seemingly wholeness. This connection to another person. This wonderful peace. 

\-----

John got home when the light was just fading from the sky and slipped in through his bedroom window. He could hear his mother and father arguing in the other room, and pulled his pillow over his head. He typed out a message to Sherlock and sent it. 

PARENTS FIGHTING. NOTHING NEW.   
JW

He received a message right away. 

WISH YOU WERE HERE.   
SH

He slipped under the covers and rolled onto his side. 

ME TOO.   
JW

SEE YOU TOMMOROW? YOU'LL NEED TO STUDY HARDER IF YOU'RE EVER GOING TO MAKE ANYTHING OF YOURSELF.   
SH

John laughed and almost forgot what was going on in the other room. 

SEE YOU THEN, BASTARD.   
JW

John set the alarm on his mobile and turned out the light. He thought about the impossible boy he'd grown so attached to. He thought about holding Sherlock's hand and stroking his hair and guiltily gripped his own cock. He wondered if it would bother Sherlock that he was touching himself while thinking of him. His thoughts were cut off but the growing warmth in his belly. Fuck that was good. He imagined licking into Sherlock's ear and rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock. It wasn't long before he'd spent himself. 

As he fell asleep he knew he'd have to talk to Sherlock about this. He couldn't be made to feel guilty for his own sex drive. He somehow knew Sherlock would never do that to him, but knowing and discussing were two different things.


	7. Three Or Four Pints Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the party has things changing for John, and the two boys growing closer.

On Saturday Sherlock met John at his house and they walked in the slowly darkening evening to his friend's place. They could hear the music from down the road and Sherlock's stomach fell. He was starting to wonder how much he could actually handle. He knew he shouldn't touch John, and that just made it worse. 

When they knocked on the door a rowdy boy with a shock of red hair opened it and motioned for them to come in. John tried to introduce Sherlock, but the boy wasn't interested in anything besides talking about their upcoming match. Sherlock stood nervously by John's side and said nothing. 

Another boy, this one stocky and brunette, approached and handed them both a beer in a paper cup. John smiled and took a small sip while Sherlock downed the whole thing. He hadn't had alcohol before, but he didn't want to look stupid. John didn't even see, but the stocky boy looked impressed. 

John eventually walked them inside and they sat on one of the large couches. The host's parents were out of country for the week, so the room was a disaster. It was littered with paper cups and cigarette butts. Sherlock was also surprised to see how many shirts and sweaters were discarded. Things apparently we're heating up. Oh, bad pun. Don't tell John the bad pun. 

John sipped his beer and talked to Sherlock over the loud music. It was hard to hear him, and when another one of John's friends brought them more alcohol Sherlock drank it all down. John wasn't looking this time either, but his friend grinned. A half hour later it happened again. 

Sherlock told John he needed some air and John walked with him outside, concerned when Sherlock stumbled upon getting up from the couch. He asked Sherlock something but the boy couldn't hear and just nodded. 

The cool air felt amazing on Sherlock's skin as they made it over to the side of the house. He thought for a moment he might be fine, but started feeling sick again soon. He rested against the wall and groaned. 

"Sherlock, how much have you had to drink?" John finally asked, concern etched in his features. 

"No-ot much." Sherlock stuttered. "Three or four...I don't remember." 

"Jesus, Sherlock, why did you drink so much?" John asked, not believing what he'd heard. 

"Wanted to-" Sherlock was cut off as he bent over and reached on the ground. 

John rubbed his back and got a cup of water and some napkins while Sherlock sat exhausted on the grass. He handed them over and held Sherlock's hand while he drank. 

"Who gave you the beer, Sherlock?" He asked. 

"Your friends. I just, I just didn't want to stand out." Sherlock said quietly.   
There was suddenly a voice from behind him and John turned. 

"Look everyone, John's taking care of his girlfriend. Told you guys he'd brought a dat-" The smug bastard didn't get to finish his sentence as John strode towards him and tackled him to the ground. 

John hit the boy in the face and gripped his hair. "You think this is funny, Charles? You could have given him alcohol poisoning by the end of the night! You fucking bastard!" 

One of the other boys, the stocky one Sherlock had seen earlier, had to peel John off of Charles before he beat him unconscious. Everyone was staring now, and Sherlock felt himself turn red. He didn't know if he should stand up or not. 

"You wankers let him do this?" He yelled. 

Several boys shrugged and one said it was just a joke. 

"It's not a fucking joke if he ends up in A&E!" John shouted, trying to wriggle free from the other boy's grip. 

"I'm fine, John." Sherlock said. 

John shot him a sad look and slumped against the short boy. The boy let go of him and he jumped back on Charles. He was pulled off again and Charles scooted back on the grass, bloody and scared, to get away from John. 

"Why do you care if he gets hurt? You fuckin 'im?" Another boy teased. 

"What if I am?" John shouted, spittle running down his chin. 

No one knew what to say at that and John got free from the boy's grip and walked over to help Sherlock to his feet. He glared back at his ' friends' and stormed away with Sherlock at his side. The ground still felt incredibly far away, and Sherlock swayed on his feet. 

They made it to John's house and climbed through his bedroom window. The room was dark and Sherlock was glad for it. John walked him to the bathroom and got a flannel wet with cold water. He let Sherlock brush his teeth with his toothbrush and then walked him to his bed. He lay Sherlock down and put the flannel on his head before getting some paracetamol and another glass of water. 

Sherlock took both from him and took the pill. He groaned and lay back on the bed. John lay down next to him, watching him with sad eyes. 

"I think you just came out to your friends." He said quietly, hoping that if he was near silent the nausea would subside. 

"I don't give a fat fuck!" John shouted. He whispered 'sorry' when Sherlock winced, and tried again. "I don't care. Arseholes. If they were really my friends they wouldn't have done that, even if they thought you were my date." 

Sherlock just hummed in agreement and flipped the cool flannel over. John sighed and rested his hand next to Sherlock's, seeing if he'd truly fucked things up tonight or if Sherlock would take it. He did, slotting their fingers together and breathing deeply. 

"Why did you drink so much?" John asked, voice sad. 

"I don't know. I didn't want to look like the loser I am. It's bad enough I'm strange and weird looking, I didn't want to look like I'd never had a drink."

John stroked his hand gently and kissed the side of his face. "You're not weird looking. You're gorgeous. Beautiful, really." 

"I'm all elbows." Sherlock whined. 

"Oh, but what fantastic elbows." He teased. 

Sherlock laughed quietly. 

"I mean it." John said. "Gorgeous." 

Sherlock turned and kissed him chastely and curled close to his body, letting the flannel fall aside and disappearing into John. John smiled and held him close.


	8. Pedestrian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes it home safe.

After a few hours Sherlock said he definitely had to go home and called a cab to meet him at the end of the street. John's parents might not care where he was, but mummy had insisted he be home by midnight. Having never been around children his age he had no idea how lax she was being. He kissed John one last time and hopped out the window. 

"Text me when you get home. So I know you're safe." John said. 

"Okay MOM." Sherlock replied teasingly. 

He was more than happy to have someone besides his family that gave a damn if he was safe, and would take all the coddling he could get from John. John winked at him and he turned to walk along the backyard hedge towards the street. When he got to the corner he sat on the kerb to wait for the cab. 

The nighttime air was brisk against his cheeks so he pulled his sleeves down to cover his hands and shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. It was strangely silent on the street, the only thing moving being the odd stray cat. He felt a little better now that his stomach had settled down and he'd brushed his teeth. He hoped his mother wouldn't know what had gone on at the party. She was a bright woman, but didn't have the deduction skills of her sons. 

The cab pulled up and Sherlock hopped in, sinking down in the seat and giving the cabbie his address. He kept his eyes open for John's house as he drove by, and saw his mother standing in the kitchen with a cup in her hand. He wondered if she'd known he was there. He wondered if she would have cared. 

They pulled up to the manor and Sherlock payed the man and got out. He straightened his clothes and walked up the long entryway and into the house. Most of the lights were out, but Sherlock could tell mummy was in the kitchen. He walked in and sat at the table with her. 

"How was the party?" She asked, passing him a plate of biscuits. 

He grabbed one and nibbled around the edge. "Just a large smelly room filled with idiots." 

She smiled and sipped her tea. "And how's John?" She asked, drawing his name out to imply the unsaid truth. 

Sherlock looked down and shrugged. 

"Well you'd better get to bed now, dear." She said. 

Sherlock stood and started to walk from the room. 

"And Sherlock?" She added. 

He turned, suddenly afraid that she'd seen through him, flaying him open with her eyes. 

"If you ever get in trouble. If you ever need someone to come get you, you can call me." She said. "And if...if John were ever to get in trouble he can come to me too. You let him know, alright dear? Let him know I won't tell his mother." 

Sherlock nodded and got the feeling that she was quite possibly the greatest woman in the world. He also got the feeling that she knew about the unrest in the Watson household. It made him feel uneasy and safe all at once. The only conclusion to all of these waring emotions was that he cared about John now, and that he felt for two people, instead of one. He was uneasy for John and felt safe for himself. He wondered if anyone else felt this intense a bond with someone. 

Sherlock pulled his jumper over his head when he got to his room and threw it on the floor. He toed off his shoes and socks and walked to the bathroom. He could hear his mobile ping from the other room and walked quickly back from the en suite bathroom to his bedroom, leaving a trail of sweaty clothes behind. He felt gross. Like the inside of a garbage bin. 

MUMMY TELLS ME YOU CAME HOME DRUNK.  
MH 

Sherlock dropped the mobile and his stomach lurched. Shit! She'd known. He fell back on the bed and thought he might throw up again, this time from nerves alone. For a second he just stared at the lit up screen of his mobile. 

HOW VERY PEDESTRIAN OF YOU, BROTHER DEAR.  
MH 

He picked it up and started to tap out a message. The conversation continued from there. 

LEAVE ME ALONE, MYCROFT.  
SH

IS THIS JOHN CHARACTER A BAD INFLUENCE?  
MH

HARDLY. MY INEBRIATION WAS DUE TO MY OWN STUPIDITY.  
SH 

I THOUGHT YOU KNEW BETTER THAN TO POISON YOUR BODY.  
MH

OH, DO SHUT UP! YOU'RE UP TO FIVE CIGARETTES A DAY!  
SH

GOODNIGHT SHERLOCK.  
MH

NIGHT MYCROFT.  
SH

He lay back on the bed again and felt like his eyes might fall out of his head. He didn't feel like any more texting so he did something out of the ordinary. He called. John picked up right away, voice quiet and concerned. 

"You okay?" He asked without preamble. 

"I feel like I'm going to die and my mother knows I was drinking." Sherlock replied. 

"Oh, Jesus! Did she ground you?" John asked. 

"No. No, she told me to tell you that if you were ever in trouble she would help. She said your mum wouldn't have to know. I think she's lost her mind." Sherlock replied, once again perplexed by his mother's actions. 

"So how do you know she knew you were drinking if she didn't say anything?" John asked. 

"She had Mycroft scold me. He called me pedestrian and I reminded him of his smoking habit. All in all it wasn't hat bad a reaction." Sherlock said. 

"Well, that's a bloody relief." John said, sighing audibly. 

Sherlock sighed and steeled himself for his next move. He could do this!  
Okay, now was the time. John was relieved and everything was fine. Time to grow a pair and ask John to come over. He'll probably say no anyway, so there's no harm. Just bloody ask him already. 

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Sherlock asked nervously. 

John smiled, unseen, and replied quickly. "Nothing. Got practice in the evening but I'm thinking about blowing it off. How about you?" 

Shit. Shit. He was supposed to be busy. Now what? Should he ask him to a movie? Were that dating now? Did John want to be seen in public with him, or had he just stood up for him at the party? How do you even ask someone on a date? What if the movie was crap? Movies are generally crap. 

"Sherlock?" John asked for the third time. 

"Hmm?" Sherlock mumbled, still halfway in his mind palace. 

"I said how about you?" John asked again giggling. 

"Oh. Um. I'm busy." Sherlock replied. 

"Oh. Okay." John said, confusion and disappointment colouring his words. 

Fuck. Wrong answer. John had wanted to hang out, he was just waiting for Sherlock to ask him. Okay, not too late. 

"Unless you'd like to assist." He tried. 

Across town John's smile lit up the whole room. "Sure! What time?" 

"Eleven? Wear something you don't mind burning." Sherlock said honestly. 

John obviously thought he was joking because he started to laugh. 

"Well, at least bring a change of clothes." Sherlock said. 

"Alright, Sherlock Holmes, I'll see you then." John said happily. 

"Goodbye." Sherlock croaked. 

He held the phone to his face for a second and could still hear John's breath. He didn't want to ring off. He kind of wanted to fall asleep to the sound of John breathing. After a few moments he broke the silence. 

"Are you still th-" 

He stopped talking when he heard the line go dead. Oh well. It didn't feel like his soul had been crushed. Not in the least.


	9. Roadkill

John showed up at the Holmes manor on time the next day, his black eye just barely fading. Mummy welcomed him in and led him to the back room Sherlock used as a laboratory. She left him at the door and John knocked eagerly. 

"Go away!" Sherlock shouted from the other side of the door. 

John opened it carefully and Sherlock spun around with a scowl. He was dressed in what looked like old pajamas and a white smock. His curls were bunched up on the sides of his face by the elastic of the goggles he was wearing. He had welder's gloves on that were, well, big enough for welder's, and had an Erlenmeyer flask in one hand. His face broke into a nervous smile as John closed the door behind him. 

John was dressed in a pair of old jeans and a stained t shirt and looked soft in the bright light of the room. Sherlock wanted to run his fingers through John's short hair and smell his skin. 

"Dr. Watson, I presume." Sherlock exclaimed. 

John, who didn't know who Dr Livingstone was, smiled widely and walked in. He looked around at what seemed like a jumble of random machinery and specimen jars. He kept his hands to himself, which Sherlock appreciated greatly, and stared into the few terrariums at the edge of the room. He was glad to find that they were filled with plants, and not soon to be disected animals. 

"You look like a proper scientist." John said. 

"I am a proper scientist." Sherlock replied, confusion etching his brow. 

"No, I meant, you look in your element." John said nervously. 

Sherlock smiled widely and handed him some goggles. John took them and put them on. He walked up to Sherlock and looked  
around him to find two bunsen burners going and a half dissected bird. 

"Don't vomit on the specimen." Sherlock said as he started back up with what he was doing. 

John nodded and watched. Sherlock moved things around and got out a pencil and pad of paper. He handed it to John and started rattling off information. John scribbled quickly, not understanding most of it but happy to help. 

For the next hour Sherlock poured semi-viscous fluids from one vial to the next and John took notes. He spoke in a rapid fire staccato and John tried to keep up. This behavior wasn't new to John. Sherlock always moved at a quick pace, even when he was teaching. 

John didn't tell him that he studied for their study sessions. He tried so hard to keep up, but he was the kind of person that needed to do something five times before he could remember and Sherlock was, well, not. Sherlock seemed to understand everything the first time, easily packing away knowledge and having no trouble finding it later. His mind was a marvel. 

When Sherlock was done with the first experiment he took off the large insulated gloves and put on a pair of medical ones. John watched as he carefully slipped his fingers in, snapping the rubber loudly. He'd become a bit obsessed with Sherlock's hands. They were agile and powerful and to be honest, highly erotic. He looked away and cleared his throat. 

"You like my hands." Sherlock said carefully, picking up a scalpel and cutting into the bird. "You find them arousing." 

John almost choked on his own tongue. Fucking Christ. No one should say arousing like that! How was he supposed to lie? 

"You don't have to be embarrassed, John. I have quite large hands. It's quite normal for you to fantasize about them." Sherlock said, using forceps to open the bird up. 

"Jesus, Sherlock! If you keep talking about it right now I'll start getting hard when I see roadkill." John said nervously. 

"What? Oh." Sherlock said, looking down at the bird in understanding. "Sorry. A conversation for another time." He said. 

'Or never.' John thought, trying hard to clamp down on his arousal. 

\-----

They finished the disection and Mrs Holmes made them both a sandwich and sent them out to sit on the grass and eat. John tried not to stare at Sherlock's fingers as he tore the sandwich into increasingly smaller pieces. He sipped his juice and looked up at the sky. 

"That was-" He began. 

"It's fine, you know. That you find me attractive." Sherlock said nervously. "I suppose it's preferable." 

"Okay." John said, not sure what his response should be. 

"I don't mind if you, erm, think about my hands. You know, when you..." Sherlock trailed off and looked away. 

"Good." John said honestly. "Can't really turn that off." 

"And I don't want you to. I just wanted to let you know it doesn't make me, it doesn't make me uncomfortable." Sherlock added. 

John smiled and took the younger boy's hand. Sherlock looked around to make sure no one could see them and John's brow furrowed. 

"I don't care if your mum sees. I don't care if anyone sees." John whispered.


	10. Cured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember that this story has a happy ending, and that you can't hit me because you don't know where I live.

John had finished eating his sandwich and was laying back in the grass looking at the sky. He'd had a hard morning, his parents fighting and trying to stick him in the middle of it, and the calm of the Holmes residence was like a sanctuary. It was only the second time he'd been over, but he already felt like he'd been there for years. Laying in the courtyard, fingers gripped in Sherlock's, he felt home. 

The silence was broken by the sound of car tyres on gravel, and then barking. John looked to Sherlock and the boy rolled his eyes. The barking got louder and a large dog ran from the garage to greet them. It sniffed John and licked his face before standing back and barking playfully at them. John sat up and scratched its head. 

"Hello there, girl, who're you?" He said as the dog panted and closed her eyes. 

"That's Dalia. She's my brother's dog. She used to be a police dog until she broke her back leg. Mycroft's boyfriend took her in for rehabilitation and never gave her back. Says she went soft." Sherlock said, voice bored. 

"Well she's a good girl! Yes, a good girl!" John continued. 

"Hope you don't talk to Sherlock like that when no one's listening, John. Don't want to give him an ego." Mycroft purred. 

John looked up to find a tall man frowning over him. He'd never met him before and was about to ask how he knew who John was when he stuck out his hand. 

"Mycroft Holmes. Pleased to meet you." Mycroft said curtly. 

John stood up and brushed his hands off on his jeans before shaking Mycroft's hand. "Nice to meet you too." 

"Take a walk with me, John." Mycroft said, only letting go of John's hand when the boy nodded. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and fell to the ground dramatically. John followed Mycroft into the house. 

"I know what you want from my brother, and I'm sad to say that he won't be interested. I suggest you go find yourself a rugby player to have your way with." Mycroft said coldly. 

"Is this some kind of joke? Trying to scare me off?" John asked angrily. 

"Is it working?" Mycroft asked. 

"Piss off!" John said, turning and walking back out the door. 

Mycroft smiled at his back. Test one passed. Good boy, John. 

\-----

Sherlock was laying in the grass next to Dalia when John walked back out. He didn't look up, but could feel the tension rolling off John. 

"What did he say to you?" He asked with practiced indifference. 

"Told me to go 'find a rugby player to have my way with'." John said, sitting next to Sherlock and touching the boy's shoulder possessively. 

Sherlock snorted. "Rugby player, right." 

"Was he dropped as a child?" John asked. 

Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes and they both started laughing. The dog perked up and ran around them in circles. 

"Would have been if I'd been alive." Sherlock said between fits of giggles.  
John relaxed back into the grass and took Sherlock's hand. "Do you think he'll keep giving me a hard time?" 

"Who knows? He's got this persistent notion that he needs to protect me from the world. It's obnoxious." Sherlock said with a groan. 

John turned over and looked him in the eyes. "I feel the same way. I will, protect you, I mean. If you ever need me to." 

Sherlock scrunched up his nose and looked away, not wanting John to know how much he liked it. John poked his shoulder and Sherlock giggled. 

"Come on, I want to go inside." John said, standing and helping Sherlock to his feet. 

Sherlock walked into the house and John chuckled to himself as he got the plates and glasses from the grass. He brought them into the kitchen and put them in the sink, then walked up the stairs to Sherlock's room. Sherlock was sitting by the window playing with the frayed edge of his shirt. 

"Sherlock?" John asked, closing the door slightly. 

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked without looking back. 

"Where do you go when you zone out?"

Sherlock turned and looked him up and down, eyeing him for potential threat. John stood still, letting Sherlock scan him and come to his own decision about whether or not he was safe to talk to. 

"My mind palace." He said at length. "It's a memory technique. I keep a mental image of a place where I store thoughts and facts. That way after they're filed I can find them again." 

He'd expected John to laugh at him but the boy looked on intrigued. 

"So when you're zoning out you're, I dunno, organizing?" John asked. 

Sherlock stood and walked quickly towards John, pinning him against the wall and hugging him tightly. John was so startled that he didn't even return the hug. Sherlock drew back suddenly and brushed imagined dusk from his clothes. 

John smiled at him. "Sherlock, what was that?" He asked. 

"Sorry." Sherlock said. "Still not used to this whole 'feeling affection towards people' thing. Got a bit overwhelmed." 

John reached out his hand and pulled Sherlock over. The boy wouldn't look him in the eyes so he pulled gently at his chin. 

"Listen. You don't ever have to be sorry for hugging me. You can hug me and kiss me and hold my hand and I'll never get upset." John said softly.  
Sherlock looked at him and frowned. "I just don't want you to think you're, I don't know, curing me." 

John took a step back and let his hand fall to his side. He looked angry for a moment and Sherlock thought perhaps he had gotten that exact impression. 

"You're not sick, Sherlock. There's nothing broken about you, you're just different. You can't think that way." He said. 

"Well I don't WANT to!" Sherlock said defensively. "It's not like I'm trying to make myself feel like shit! I don't ask these thoughts to show up!" 

"No, I didn't mean-" John began. 

"Of course you didn't mean that, you just weren't thinking! Must be so easy to have a NORMAL brain! It's gotta be tidy in there, as empty as it is! Do you ever think, John?" Sherlock yelled. 

It was like he wasn't really him. Like he was watching himself yell and had no control over it. He wasn't actually angry at John, but John was so perfectly placed to take the blame. He just stood there looking hurt and it broke his heart. It broke Sherlock's heart that he was hurting the only person he cared about and he couldn't stop. 

"I guess I don't think. Suppose that's the problem. I should go." John said. 

And with that he was gone and Sherlock was alone again. He didn't know he'd fallen until the carpet came into focus in front of his eyes. He was still somewhere on the edge of the room watching. Watching his life fall apart. 


	11. The Ocean At Night

John punched his bedroom wall. Fuck. He'd fucked it all up. He thought he was being considerate, but Sherlock felt like he was pressuring him. He hit it again. It hurt, but not enough to pull him from his thoughts. He wished Sherlock hadn't got so angry. He'd had so much more to say. He wanted to tell Sherlock that he didn't mean to make him feel bad. 

He knew how much it had taken out of the other boy to open up. He knew how much he was hurting. Shit. He'd have to change every way he thought. He THOUGHT he knew how much Sherlock was hurting. He'd been assuming all along that being his friend would make him like himself, but that wasn't true, was it? He couldn't force Sherlock to be happy with himself, he just needed to stand by him and not say stupid things. 

Stupid! So like him to think he could make somebody better by wanting it enough. That's why he was going to be a doctor, because wanting wasn't enough. 

Maybe he shouldn't have said the thing about Sherlock not being sick. Maybe he shouldn't have said any of it. It was just so FUCKING hard watching someone you care about suffer. The idea that Sherlock was hurt and he couldn't immediately help had made him angry. He'd gotten angry and he'd fucked it up. Just like he always did. 

\-----

The light faded from the sky and Sherlock still lay on his floor. He watched the changing colours of the carpet and let his mind whir. It was too much. It was all too much. He shouldn't have done that. He'd essentially called John stupid. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus. John was gone. Jesus. 

Fine. He'd be fine. Alone is better. He knows alone. What had Mycroft always said? 'Alone protects me'? Something like that. John. John, John, John. No. Stop. Stop thinking about John. John and his trainers. John and his mismatched socks and his worn out jeans and his golden straw coloured hair and how, oh, how he wanted to see John dance in the rain! Because he would. John would dance in the rain. He would take off his trainers and mismatched socks and stomp through a puddle and look into Sherlock's eyes like the only real thing left in the world was the feel of water on his heels and Sherlock's eyes. 

He would drop his umbrella and throw his head back and stick out his tongue and laugh. He would laugh at mother nature because he wasn't afraid of anything, let alone a rainstorm. He would beg Sherlock to toss his umbrella aside and only admit it was all a bad idea once Sherlock did. And then it wouldn't be so bad, even if they were shivering. Because even bad ideas are partway good when they're together. 

He was shocked from his thoughts by a knocking on the door. His mother opened it and looked down at him. 

"Get off the floor, Sherlock, and come have supper." She chided. 

Sherlock just watched as she walked out and wondered if John's mother was across town trying to get him to come to the table. They always say 'if looks could kill', but that's it, is it? Looks aren't really dangerous, it's thoughts. Thoughs can kill. 

The thought of John across town, alone in his room, waiting on a dinner that might not come, almost killed Sherlock. He wondered if he would just go throughout his life collecting thoughts that almost killed him until he had enough. How many thoughts like this before he actually died? 

He made a mental note to see if anyone had ever actually died of sadness and stood. The sudden movement made him feel ill, but he steadied himself and walked down to the dining room. Everyone was at the table so he sat down and went through the motions. 

Mummy talked animatedly to Dad about her new book club while Mycroft texted. Sherlock ate because he wanted to remember what it felt like to chew and taste nothing. He wondered if that was one of the first things that went. First your taste and balance and then what? Hearing. His brain was so loud he could barely hear anyway, so he didn't think he'd care. 

What was the point of hearing when John wasn't around to laugh. That was the best sound in the world. Just the best. He should have recoded it on his mobile when he had the chance. Oh. No, John laughing wasn't the best! John breathing! He remembered the other night when he heard John breathing through the mobile before he hung up. The sound of John breathing was like the ocean at night. It was calm and constant and he ached for it to rush over him again. 

Sherlock chewed and drank and chewed again. Mummy pointed to Sherlock and asked Mycroft if he was alright. 

"Probably just in his mind palace. Leave him be." Mycroft said. 

\-----

When dinner was over Sherlock went back upstairs and got into his bed, fully clothed. He heard mummy and da talking and wondered if they'd even notice that he'd changed. He had, you see, he had. 

He wasn't Sherlock Holmes anymore. Not quite. He was...Sherlock after John. Yes, that's it. He was different somehow. He felt hollow, like his organs had been replaced with cotton balls. He put his hand on his wrist to make sure he still had a heartbeat. Hmm. Still alive then. 

John. Oh, yes, that's what he was thinking about. John. Maybe he would pretend that John had been sent away to war. John hadn't left him, he'd left England. Perhaps he and England could grieve together. Maybe he would die overseas. It really would be better that way. No one tells you to stop being morose if the person you love dies in combat. 

It would be better of John died. Then he could feel sorry for himself forever. He could never talk to anyone again. People would leave him alone because his boyfriend died. Maybe they'd come up with a story about how Sherlock had killed him, and then he'd never be bothered by anyone ever again. 

He felt like he should be crying, but he wasn't. He ran his fingers across his cheeks to check, but they were dry. He got a strange idea. He bit his tongue to see if it hurt. It didn't. Maybe he WAS dead. 

\-----

There was a tapping at John's window and he woke with a start. He thought he'd imagined it, but no, there it was again. He got out of bed and walked over, peering outside and finding nothing. He turned away and almost pissed himself when the tapping started up again. He spun around to find Sherlock on the other side of the glass. Something didn't look right about the boy. 

John opened the window and stood back as Sherlock climbed in. He was in his pajama pants and a light t-shirt. He wasn't wearing shoes. What the fuck? John reached out to touch Sherlock's hand and found him cold. Sherlock looked at him with glassy eyes and John sighed. 

"Oh, come here you big fool!" John said, tugging Sherlock towards the bed and crawling in after him. "Christ, Sherlock, you're freezing!" 

Sherlock lay still as John rubbed his arms. John got the feeling that Sherlock wasn't really 'with him' at this point. He turned him on his side and pulled him close, wrapping the duvet tightly around him and blowing warm air against his neck. His feet were freezing and covered in dirt. John spooned him and tucked his feet up against the boy's to warm them. 

"I'm sorry." Sherlock whispered minutes later. 

"Me too." John whispered back.


	12. Missing You

Sherlock and John lay like that for a few hours, sharing warmth under the sheets. John knew it couldn't last forever. Soon he'd have to get Sherlock back home so that his parents wouldn't call the police. He snuggled closer and rubbed his face into Sherlock's short curls. The boy was sound asleep so he indulged a bit. 

"I think I love you. I know it's silly, and we've only just met. You'd probably think I went around falling in love with every other person I ran into, but there's just you. I've been attracted to people before. I've wanted to kiss someone and get off with them, but never this. Never this...slotting together. If you let me I'll promise to be yours." He whispered. 

He set his timer on his mobile for two more hours and lay back down. Sherlock's warm body nuzzled closer to him and he felt like he was far away. Far away from everything that was wrong in his life. 

"I don't know if I could handle losing you." He whispered. 

When the alarm went off John got up grogily and went to the bathroom. He got a wet flannel and cleaned Sherlock's feet. There was something exquisitely personal about handling such delicate skin while the boy slept. When they were clean John put three pairs of his own socks on Sherlock, knowing that his shoes wouldn't come close to fitting him.

Sherlock slept on while John called a cab. The dispatcher said the driver would be there in twenty minutes so John waited ten to wake Sherlock. He sat looking at the sleeping boy for a long time. His face looked calm as he slept and John ached to make him feel that way. He wished he could just erase every worry Sherlock had ever had. 

When the ten was up he shook the boy's shoulder and whispered his name until he sat up. When he did he looked around confused before zeroing in on John's face. He looked at John with such intensity that it took his breath away. When he'd finally righted himself John spoke. 

"I called a cab. I'd love to have you stay over but you need to go home. Your mum will freak if you aren't in bed in the morning." John said. 

Sherlock grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into bed. He was surprisingly strong for someone who looked like he skipped every other meal. John gave in and let Sherlock curl his body around him. Within seconds he regretted it as Sherlock was fast asleep again. 

"Sher, you have to get up." He whispered. 

"No! Don't wanna." Sherlock whined. 

"You have to go home. Trust me, I don't want you to, but what I want doesn't matter." John said. 

Sherlock rolled over and peered up at him. "I missed you." He said. 

"I missed you too." John replied. "Now, you have to go or your mum might not let me see you again. They'll be angry if they can't find you. Please." 

Sherlock sat up at the please and followed John across the room. John hopped out the window and helped Sherlock to the other side. They walked hand in hand to the edge of the street and sat down. 

"I thought some horrible things tonight." Sherlock whispered, knowing he would never be able to tell John exactly what crossed his mind. 

"I know. Me too." John replied.

"Will you meet me at the library tomorrow?" Sherlock asked. 

John kissed him and nodded. 

"I'll miss you till then." Sherlock said, standing as the cab pulled up, red brake lights casting an warm glow. 

"I'll miss you too." John said, squeezing Sherlock's hand one more time before he left.


	13. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock helps John. With his erection. Jesus Christ.  
> *BLUSHES FURIOUSLY*

Sherlock was almost lucid when the cab reached his house. He handed the man the cash John had given him and walked slowly up the back. He tiptoed inside, noticing Mycroft's light on under his door, and went to his room. He didn't turn the light on, instead feeling his way to the bed. He sat on the edge and removed the layers of socks John had wrapped him in. 

He didn't take off John's sweatshirt. It still smelled like him, and if anything would be able to get Sherlock to sleep that night it would be John's scent. He slipped under the duvet and reached to the bedside table for his mobile. He typed out a quick message before drifting off. 

HOME SAFE  
SH 

\-----

John sat fidgeting. He now had a busted lip to go with his fading black eye and bruised hand. Wonderful. He knew going back to school after the party would be hard, but he hadn't expected to be jumped before he made it to campus. Apparently it isn't considered nice to call someone out on taking advantage of your boyfriend. Christ. 

He was still wondering what he could tell Sherlock when the boy walked in, yawning and rubbing his eyes. John watched him walk towards the door to their session room slowly. He opened the door and gaped at John. John ushered him in and closed the door. 

"What happened?" Sherlock asked quietly. 

"Couple of my old friends decided to teach me a lesson on my way to school. Bastards." John groaned. 

Sherlock sat across from him and looked at his own hands. "I'm sorry I got you into trouble. All you do is look out for me, and I'm useless in return." 

John grabbed his hand. "You aren't useless. I'll be perfectly fine." 

Sherlock sighed and took out his things. "At least I can help you with maths." He said. 

John smiled and got out his book. 

\-----

After the study session John and Sherlock walked back down to the creek. Sherlock's mother had made them a snack, so they sat on the edge of the grass with their toes touching the water and ate. She'd made wonderful almond cookies and celery with peanut butter. John chomped away while Sherlock pulled the strings off. 

"I don't want to make your life harder." Sherlock said, finally getting up the nerve. 

He was really afraid that John might decide it was too much. He'd been through all that the other night and came away with the naive impression that all their troubles were behind them. Turns out that wasn't so. It seemed like the whole world was out to get them. Well, the whole world besides mummy. 

John set down his food and turned to face Sherlock. "You make life worth living. Before I met you I felt lost. My family doesn't want me, my friends are idiots, I'm barely smart enough to do the only thing I've ever cared about." 

Sherlock shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but John stopped him. 

"I knew they were idiots all along, okay? This is really nothing new. It wasn't like I had to stand there and decide who's side to take. If I hadn't met you we might still be friends, but I wasn't able to be myself. I wasn't going to tell them I was gay. I was going to keep my mouth shut because I knew deep down that they would reject me for it. How positively cowardly is that?" John said, getting really upset with himself for the second time in two days. 

"You aren't a coward, John! You're the least cowardly person I know! You stood up for me! Don't you understand? No one does that. People are cruel to me every day at school, and not once has anyone defended me. It's just you. It's only you." Sherlock said, voice getting quieter as he went. 

John took his hand and pulled him closer. He'd suspected that the kids at Sherlock's school were mean to him, but hearing it from Sherlock hurt. He wished he knew people there, someone who could look out for Sherlock. 

"I'd do it again in a second." He said. 

Sherlock rested against him and knew it was true. After a few moments Sherlock spoke again. This time it was barely above a whisper. 

"I'm not giving your jumper back."

John chuckled. "Like it, do you?" He asked. 

Sherlock shrugged. "It smells like you." 

John kissed his forehead and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. It was an awkward angle, but Sherlock nestled into John and didn't attempt to move. The air had picked up a bit of a chill, and it was obvious fall was on its way. Both boys were glad for each other's warmth. After a while Sherlock drew back. 

"I don't have to be home for dinner. Can we go to your place for a while? Sneak in?" He asked. 

John smiled and nodded. "Sure." 

They put all the food back in Sherlock's bag and stood to walk. They began to walk the path through the woods and John grasped Sherlock's hand. It surprised Sherlock that even after holding hands as much as they had he still got a little thrill out of it. 

They talked the whole way about where John wanted to go to university and whether Sherlock would even attend himself. John tried to tell him that college would be different, that people would actually want to learn. They both knew it was probably a lie. 

When they got to John's house the only person home was Harry, and she was passed out on the couch. They didn't even have to sneak in his window. They closed the door and Sherlock used the desk chair to block it. John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock smiled nervously. 

"I want to kiss you." Sherlock said. "Properly." 

John swallowed hard and tried not to moan. It worked. Mostly. 

"I thought you didnt-" He began. 

"It's not...it's not that I don't want to kiss you. I do. I want to kiss you and sit in your lap and cuddle." Sherlock said, feeling the flush he knew was inevitable climbing his neck. "I want to be close to you. I want to touch you. I'm just not...I just don't get, well, sexually stimulated." 

"Oh." John said. It seemed the only appropriate response. 

"So I want. I want to be close to you and smell you and taste the skin on your neck and when you're ready I want to...I'd like to help." Sherlock whispered. 

"Help?" John asked. 

"With..." Sherlock said, nodding to John's crotch. 

"Oh." John said. Once again, only thing appropriate. 

Sherlock climbed onto the bed and crowded up against John. John drew in a quick breath and opened his eyes wide. Sherlock could tell he was already ridiculously aroused. He straddled him and wrapped his arms around him. John breathed quickly into his ear. 

"I'm going to kiss you now." Sherlock said. 

John nodded nervously and Sherlock brought his lips down, pressing them softly to John's. It was awkward at first, then Sherlock angled his head a bit and they fit perfectly together. John let Sherlock lead the kiss, not pushing him to do anything he didn't want to. 

Sherlock took his time, running his tongue across John bottom lip and closing his eyes. John couldn't bring himself to look away from the younger boy's face. With his eyes closed he looked like he was sleeping. John though back to the night before and Sherlock's warm pliant body against him. 

Sherlock drew back and smiled at him. "That's nice." 

John nodded and Sherlock started to unbutton his shirt. 

"Sherlock, you really don't have to-" John said, voice cracking.

"It's not sexual, John, I just need to feel your skin. I'm not repulsed by your body. Would it be better if I helped you come now?" Sherlock asked. 

John choked on his own saliva, eyes wide. With Sherlock saying things like 'I'm going to kiss you now' and 'I just need to feel your skin' John wouldn't need much help at all. 

Sherlock smiled and pushed him back against the bed. John whimpered as Sherlock squeezed his clothed erection gently. 

"I understand the concept, it's just never done anything for me." Sherlock said. 

John nodded feverishly and Sherlock rubbed him through his jeans. It was over embarrassingly fast, and John thought he might pass out from the intensity of it. Instead he melted into the covers and let Sherlock remove his shirt. Sherlock lay down, tucked at his side, and closed his eyes. John used his shirt to clean a bit of come from the inside of his pants and then relaxed back into the mattress. 

"Was that, I mean-" John began. 

"Shh, it was fine." Sherlock whispered, running his hands up and down John's chest. 

John supposed he'd have to get used to that response, but to tell the truth, he was quite happy at the moment. If Sherlock was fine with him coming in his pants he supposed that was just a bonus. He ran his fingers into Sherlock's curls and just enjoyed the younger boy's fingers learning his body. This could work out just fine, he decided. Just fine indeed


	14. Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries his hand at talking dirty. It works surprisingly well.

John and Sherlock spent the rest of the evening in bed. Sherlock wanted to hold John for as long as possible and John had no objections. Not a damn one. When John's parents came home the two boys scrambled to get dressed and slip out the window. They walked down the road, Sherlock with his shoes and socks in his hand, and made their way back to the creek. 

It felt like their place. The place where they'd first fallen for each other, and a place where the world couldn't touch them. 

The sun went down, and John made Sherlock called his mother to tell her he'd be home in a few hours. He did things like that, things that Sherlock wouldn't think of. He always thought of others first. 

When the crickets were taking over the night and the owl's were waking up John walked Sherlock home. He didn't want to go home himself. It took very little for Sherlock to convince him to sneak in and sleep with him in his bed. They lay there half naked, skin touching, and John slept better than he had in a very long time. 

"Do you think this is love?" Sherlock asked a sleeping John. 

\-----

They both woke to Sherlock's alarm long before the sun came up the next morning. John stretched and Sherlock wrapped his whole body around him. John giggled and hugged him back. 

"It's like you have more than two arms." John whispered. 

"I'm sleepy, don't go." Sherlock replied. 

"I have to get up, Sher. You know I don't want to." John answered. 

Sherlock reluctantly unwrapped his arms and got out of bed. 

"Where are you going?" John asked. 

"To start the shower, come on." Sherlock replied. 

John didn't have to be told twice. He followed Sherlock into the bathroom and stripped nervously. Sherlock's half naked body and the promise of more was already making him hard. He was horribly embarrassed by the fact that he seemed to have no control over himself.   
Sherlock slipped off his boxers and got in. John got in behind him, cock at full mast. 

"I'm sorry-" He began. 

Sherlock cut him off. "It's biology. It's no surprise that someone your age would get an erection at the sight of a naked lover." 

"Okay." John said hesitantly. 

"I don't really want to touch it." Sherlock said. "But I've read that saying things that arouse your partner is often enough if they manually stimulate themselves." 

John chuckled. "Been doing research, have you?" 

Sherlock cocked his head. "Don't see why I shouldn't." 

"No, I wasn't, I wasn't criticizing." John said. "It's...um, we can try that." 

Sherlock turned John around and held him close to his body, chin resting on his shoulder. 

"I've never done this before. I've never tried to 'talk dirty'." He said. 

John gripped himself and closed his eyes. 

"I know my body arouses you. Touch yourself and think of me. Imagine me laying underneath you. I know you'd like to fuck me. Imagine pushing yourself into me. Imagine the noises I would make. Think of my hands gripping your shoulders as you-" John stilled and came all over the tiles.   
"Interesting. It worked." Sherlock exclaimed. 

"Yeah, yeah." John said, laughing quietly. "Just hold me for a minute." 

Sherlock kissed his neck and breathed deeply. 'This will work just fine' he thought.


	15. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock head back to school. They both have issues.

John got dressed slowly, still in a bit of a haze. If he was with anyone else he would have been embarrassed by how quickly he'd come, but he had a feeling Sherlock didn't mind. He laced up his trainers and turned to find Sherlock pouting adorably. 

"Ah, don't be sad, I'll see you soon." He said, kissing Sherlock on the cheek. 

"How soon?" Sherlock asked. 

John chuckled lightly. "Very. After school?" 

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. At the library. We really must get back to our studying. I'm afraid you might forget what I've taught you." 

John rolled his eyes and kissed Sherlock's cheek again. "See you then." 

He opened the door slowly and slipped down the back stairs and out into the cold morning air. He walked the back way, taking his time and not really wanting to go to school at all. He wondered how much longer it would be before the fight at the party would stop being an issue. He really didn't want to get in another fist fight. 

\-----

"Oi! Bum boy!" One of his schoolmates shouted. 

Christ, it had started already. He ducked his head down and walked across campus. Everyone turned and stared as he passed. He knew coming out would be hard, but this was really a magnificent way to do it. Bad enough to tell your friends you're gay, but then to have then turn on you? Fantastic. Really, just bloody fantastic. 

He didn't look up as Mike jogged up next to him. He really didn't have time for people who pretended to care. 

"John." Mike said. 

"That's my name." John replied sarcastically. 

"Look, mate, I'm sorry. I only gave him the first two drinks. I didn't know what they were doing. I wouldn't have-" Mike began. 

"Wouldn't have what? Tried to poison him yourself? Not good enough, Mike. You didn't stick up for me. You didn't say a damn word." John snapped angrily. 

Mike held his hands up placatingly in front of himself as John stopped walking and a crowd started to form. 

"I'm sorry, I'm a bloody coward, okay? I was afraid the guys would beat the crap out of me too. Look, I don't think any different now I know you're gay. I told them all that they're being bastards. You did what you should have done. I'm sorry it went so far." Mike said honestly. 

John turned to the group of people who were watching and sneered. 

"I'm gay. You heard it right. I'm gay and I don't give a flying fuck who knows!" He hollered. 

Most of the people looked on shocked, but a few looked secretly supportive. A little nod here and there. One girl gave him a covert thumbs up. 

John turned to Mike and frowned. "I know it's hard to stand up to them. I'm sorry if I was hard on you." 

Mike smiled. "So we're good?" 

"Yeah, we're good." John replied. 

\-----

Sherlock walked down the hall on his way to his first class. The corridor was packed full of idiots, milling around like the sheep they were. One of his own personal tormentors walked up and knocked his books out of his hands. 

"Yer fookin clumsy, mate!" He said, grinning. 

"And you're in love with your maths teacher." Sherlock retorted. 

The boy swung and Sherlock ducked out of the way. He abandoned his books and slipped into the nearest classroom. Mr Lestrade looked up from his desk with a frown. 

"What'd you do now, Sherlock?" He asked, exasperated. 

"I didn't do anything, and I resent the implication." Sherlock replied. 

"Oi! I'm not the enemy, son. You've got to take responsibility for your actions. Who'd you humiliate this time?" Mr Lestrade asked, closing the door. 

"Same brut as always." Sherlock replied. "Oh, come now, don't act like you care." 

Mr Lestrade crossed his arms and sighed. "It's not an act, Sherlock. You're bloody brilliant and a bit lost. I'm just trying to help." 

"You can help by not treating me like a child!" Sherlock spit, going for the door. 

"Well, that'd be a lot easier if you stopped acting like one. Quit treating everyone like shite and they might stop harassing you." Lestrade said, holding the door closed. 

"Oh, turn the other cheek? Brilliant, can't believe I never thought of that." Sherlock replied sarcastically, pushing Lestrade's hand out of the way and walking out of the room. 

Sherlock bloody Holmes. Most stubborn lad he'd ever known.


	16. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter again, life is crazy right now.

At the end of the school day Sherlock was pulled aside and asked to wait at the front office. He wasn't sure what he'd done, as he'd kept his mouth shut as best he could that day. He didn't know how he was going to tell his parents that he'd had another three textbooks stolen, but he figured he could take up the case of the missing earrings that their housekeeper had offered. He knew who it was, and it would net him fifty quid. That would take care of one of the books. 

He was thinking on what else he could do to make some money when his mother stormed through the door. She wore her biggest sunglasses, a sign she'd been crying, and looked pale. The chancellor motioned them into his office. 

"Oh, Sherlock, what's happened now?" She asked concerned. 

Sherlock simply shrugged his shoulders and looked at his feet. It was bad enough to have your mother show up at school, but she was concerned too. 

"Mrs Holmes. Good to see you again." The chancellor began. "Some goings on have come to my attention. I've spoken to you about my concerns with Sherlock before. (Sherlock snorted) It seems that Sherlock has found himself at odds with his classmates once again." 

"If by 'at odds' you mean they're all painfully stupid, then yes, I am at odds with them. Why you've called in my mother I don't know!" Sherlock protested. 

The chancellor ignored him and spoke directly to his mother, something that made Sherlock absolutely livid. 

"Mr Lestrade says that a boy stole some of Sherlock's school books today. Since the theft wasn't seen and the boy's locker was empty I'm afraid there's nothing we can do." The chancellor said. 

The adults talked for a while longer while Sherlock seethed. Bloody Lestrade, once again trying to play the good samaritan. He really had no clue. Calling his mother in to the school was NOT going to do anything good for Sherlock's standing with the local arseholes. 

\-----

John was waiting in the library for Sherlock. The boy was twenty seven minutes late, an anomaly that had John worried. If something had happened to Sherlock, something he couldn't control, it would drive John crazy. When Sherlock finally showed up he looked stressed out. 

"Are you alright?" John asked. 

"Of course I'm alright! Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Sherlock snapped. 

"Sorry. You just looked a bit upset is all." John said sheepishly. 

"Idiot at school stole my books. They called my mum in. It was a bloody disaster." Sherlock said under his breath. 

John was about to ask for more information when Sherlock slipped out of his seat and to the floor. 

"What are you doing?" John asked in a hushed tone. 

"He's there. He's right there." Sherlock hissed. 

"The one in the Man U kit?" John asked. 

Sherlock nodded and then frowned as John stood to follow the boy out. He kept a little distance between them and Sherlock jogged after . When they made it to the back of the building John called out. 

"Oi! Wanker!" John shouted. 

Sherlock did his best to hide behind John, which just made it look like John had grown a second head from his shoulder. The boy spun around confused. 

"What the fuck did you call me?" He asked, moving closer. 

"You heard me!" John shot back. 

The boy spotted Sherlock over John shoulder and chuckled. 

"This your boyfriend, freak?" He asked teasingly. 

"I bloody well am! What'd you do with his books?" John hollered, hands squeezing into fists. 

"Bugger off!" The boy shouted back. 

John took a small step forward and the boy smiled wider before John hit him squarely in the chin. His eyes shot wide as he gripped his face. He took a swing and John gripped his wrist then twisted it behind him forcefully. The boy was pushed up face first against the wall painfully. 

"Lemme go!" He whined. 

"Touch him again and I'll break your arm, you twat!" John hissed. 

Sherlock stood across the alley, feeling adrenalin pulsing through his veins. He felt alive. He felt like he could beat the crap out of the boy himself. He felt a tad sick, to tell the truth. It was all happening so fast. 

John released the boy and he ran off in the other direction. He turned to Sherlock with a wide grin. 

"God, that felt good." He said. 

"That was...thank you." Sherlock replied. 

"Sorry I couldn't get your books back." John said, taking Sherlock's hand and walking him back to the front of the library. 

"He probably burned them. I have them memorised anyway." Sherlock replied flatly. 

"You're brilliant, you know that?" John said.


	17. Brilliant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the fight Sherlock wrestles with new feelings. Plus.... Movie night!!

"Sherlock?" John asked for the third time. 

Sherlock glanced up at him, seeming to have suddenly realised they were back in the library, and nodded. 

"Are you alright? I know I'm not supposed to ask, but you've been zoning out more than usual." John said. 

"I feel...twitchy. Tightly wound. It's something I've never felt before. I'm trying to analyze it, but since I have no other data to compare it to I'm having trouble." Sherlock said, eyes still focused on something far away. 

"Tightly wound? You mean like, excited?" John asked. 

"Well, yes. More excited than I've been in ages. I can't stop tapping my foot. Is that...is that normal?" Sherlock asked, growing concerned. 

"After a fight? Sure. It was because of that tosser, wasn't it?" John asked. 

"Well, yes and no. I've had several altercations with him, and never felt this way. I usually feel like I have something squeezing my stomach. It's something I associate with stress. This is more pleasant, jovial even." Sherlock said. 

John knew what he was talking about, but wanted Sherlock to extrapolate for himself. 

"What's the variable that hasn't been there before?" He asked. 

"You. You! You are the variable, John! You're the reason I feel like I should be dancing and hitting things!" Sherlock exclaimed loudly. 

John hushed him, even though they were in a supposedly sound proof room. Sherlock's grin was contagious, and John soon found himself smiling too. 

"When you hit him I felt like cheering." Sherlock admitted. 

"It felt good. Defending you. It felt really good." John said quietly. 

"You would have made a good mate, evolutionarily." Sherlock said. 

John smiled and leaned over to kiss him. 

"I love you." He whispered. 

"The feeling's quite mutual." Sherlock said without looking him in the eyes. 

\-----

After they had finished studying and John was putting away his books Sherlock asked if he wanted to come over and watch a movie. 

"Yeah. What have you got?" John asked. 

Sherlock paled a bit. "I...I don't have any movies." 

"What? What do you mean you don't have any movies? Not one?" John asked animatedly. 

Sherlock shrugged. 

"Sorry. Look, we can grab one from my house." John offered. 

Sherlock nodded and they walked out to the street. They walked almost all the way to John's house before Sherlock spoke. He was still reeling from finding out that John loved him. 

"You always stand up for me." He said. 

John looked at him after he didn't elaborate. "Yes. I do." 

"Why do you do that?" Sherlock asked. 

"Thought I made that clear. I love you. You aren't just someone I like, it goes beyond that. I want you to be happy. I want to protect you. Your safety matters to me. That's just a fact." John said. "I can't help but act on it." 

"I would, you know." Sherlock said under his breath. 

"Would what?" John asked just as quietly, hoping that his soft voice would coax the answer out. 

"Stand up for you." He said a bit louder. 

John took his hand and squeezed it tightly. 

\-----

John's parents cars weren't in the drive so he and Sherlock went in through the front door. John slipped his key in and they went to the sitting room to dig through some dvds. They sat cross-legged in front of the large TV display and Sherlock looked around. John's place was small, but tidy. Something his mum would call cozy. There wasn't any artwork on the walls, and Sherlock found that odd, but it was alright. 

"Okay, we have Terminator, Alien, Resident Evil or Die Hard." John said, holding the cases up. 

"Those all look horrible." Sherlock replied. 

"You still feel that adrenalin?" John asked. 

Sherlock shrugged. 

"Okay, then pick one. It's not about the fantastic story line or the dialogue, it's about the good guys kicking arse and the bad guys getting what they deserve." John said with a grin. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and reached out his hand indiscriminately. 

"Die Hard! Yippie Ki Yay Motherfucker!" John hollered. 

Sherlock scrambled up after him to the kitchen. He watched as John almost gutted the cabinets. He filled a bag with crisps, popcorn, some cheese type product and a ton of HobNobs. 

"Are we supposed to eat all that?" Sherlock asked, looking a little concerned about the prospect. 

John turned around with an almost evil grin. "What's the use of movie night if you don't get half sick off the food?" 

Sherlock didn't reply, just wondered why he'd never thought to get himself half sick off anything before.

When they had everything, and more, they got on the road. The walk didn't take long, and when they jogged up to Sherlock's front stoop both were glad they had the whole evening with each other. They made it all the way to the sitting room before anyone noticed they were there. 

"Big night planned, eh?" Mummy asked. 

"Hello Mrs Holmes!" John said cheerfully. 

"And how are you doing John?" Mummy replied just as cheerfully. 

"Doing well, ma'am. Mind if I use your microwave for some popcorn?" John asked. 

"You know where it is, feel free." She said. 

John walked into he kitchen and could be heard unwrapping things. 

"You two sure are getting close." She said to Sherlock. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"He's a good boy. I knew you'd get on." She remarked as she left the room. 

"Christ, last thing I need is mum rooting for us." Sherlock mumbled. 

A few minutes later John walked in with a platter overflowing with food and two large glasses of juice. He set it down on the floor in front of the TV and got to fiddling with the remotes to get the movie going. Sherlock nibbled on a crisp and watched John, his John, John who loved him, work. 

"That should do it!" John said, settling back next to Sherlock. "Now, remember, this isn't Olivier award stuff. This is excitement and destruction." 

"I'll try to keep that in mind." Sherlock said. 

It was easier said than done for the first ten minutes, but then John started trying to toss popcorn directly into Sherlock's mouth and the two of them were giggling and high on sheer proximity and John held his hand and IT WAS PERFECT. He felt like a proper teenager, doing proper teenage things, and it wasn't horrid or boring. 

"Why do you love me? " He asked, quickly wishing he hadn't. 

"What do you mean why?" John replied. 

"Well, I don't understand it." Sherlock said, playing with the hem of his shirt. 

"I love you because you make me laugh, and you're stubborn. I love you because you understand me, and you care how I feel. I love you because you're all that matters to me." John said. 

"Oh." Sherlock replied. 

"Yes, oh. Now watch the movie, this bit's brilliant!" John said, kissing Sherlock's cheek. 

'Every bit's brilliant when you're here' Sherlock thought.


	18. Is That Normal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get news about school break and Sherlock wakes John early in the morning for some news of his own.

When the movie was over Sherlock brought the now fairly empty tray into the kitchen. John followed him, making machine gun sounds and spinning on his feet. Sherlock just laughed and led the way to his room. They flopped down on Sherlock's bed and stared up at the ceiling. 

"So did you like it?" John asked, grinning wildly. 

"I don't want you to go." Sherlock replied quickly. 

"I can stay. Don't worry." John said, running his fingers over the back of Sherlock's hand. 

"No. No I mean to college. I don't want you to go away to college." Sherlock replied. 

John sat up and pulled Sherlock against him. "That's not for a long time." 

"I don't care. I don't want you to go."

"We'll spend time together. It won't change anything. Everything will be fine." John assured the younger boy. 

A knock came to the door and the two separated before Sherlock called for whoever it was to come in. Mummy walked in and sat down on the bed next to them. 

"I've put together the trip plans for break. We're going to Holland." She said animatedly. 

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. "You told me we'd be in town! I don't want to go! I told John I'd be here!" 

Mrs Holmes smiled and Sherlock took a split second to wonder how such a wicked woman had birthed him. 

"John's invited." She said. "I've just talked to his mum on the phone." 

John jumped up and grinned at Sherlock. "I've never gone anywhere on holiday! Thank you, Mrs Holmes!" 

Mummy accepted his boisterous hug and patted him on the back.

"Anything for you John, you're practically family." She said, turning to leave. 

When the door closed John pounced on Sherlock, who fell back on the bed as the air was knocked out of him. He stared up at John, who was grinning madly. 

"Holland? Bloody brilliant! How fucking cool is this?" John asked. 

Sherlock returned the sentiment and laughed aloud. John flopped dramatically down next to him and started laughing as well. 

"I wonder if we'll get any time to check out the city alone. I'd love to see what kind of mold grows in the alcoves near the bridges. We could sneak into movies! This is going to be amazing!" Sherlock said. 

"Do you think your mum knows we're dating?" John asked suddenly. 

"Probably." Sherlock shrugged. 

"I like her." John replied with a smile. 

\-----

John and Sherlock lay talking until the sun went down and then John hid on the balcony while mummy checked to make sure Sherlock was in bed. Once she'd left John undressed and slipped into bed next to Sherlock. They clung to each other and whispered. 

"Can you stay till morning?" Sherlock asked. 

"Sure." John replied. 

The air from the balcony wasn't as cool as it had been the last few weeks, and it drifted in and across their shoulders softly. They lay wrapped in each others arms for a long time not speaking. The cloud cover dissipated and the stars came out. 

"John?" Sherlock whispered. 

"Yeah?" John replied. 

"Would you like to try the thing we did in the shower again?"

John breathed in quickly and tried to clamp down on his arousal. He hadn't been hard a few seconds ago, but remembering Sherlock's voice in his ear while he worked himself was enough to make his cock stir. 

"We don't need to." He said. 

"I'd like to." Sherlock replied. 

John swallowed and nodded. "Okay." 

"I want you to touch yourself and pretend it's me." Sherlock whispered into John's ear. 

John ran a hand down and cupped his bollocks. 

"Show me how you want me to touch you." Sherlock said as he pushed the covers down. 

John sighed and worked himself languidly. He ran his hand up and wrapped it around his cock, pumping slowly and getting harder. 

After a few minutes of wanking while Sherlock purred delicious things in his ear John came with a muffled moan. Sherlock used a discarded shirt to clean John's belly and then pulled the covers back over them. John sighed deeply and let his eyes close. 

"I think I like you like this." Sherlock said, pulling John into his arms and nuzzling his neck. "Soft and sleepy and high off endorphins." 

John hummed and let Sherlock kiss the back of his neck. It was always nice being kissed by Sherlock. He'd never been kissed like it before. All the other times were just foreplay, but with Sherlock it was different. Sherlock seemed to be mapping out his skin piece by piece. It was calming to have him move slowly over his body, focusing on one part at a time. Sherlock would kiss his shoulder over and over until he met some unknown quota and then move to his arm. 

Sherlock continued to kiss John as the older boy fell asleep. When John was finally snoring lightly Sherlock set his alarm and rested his head on the pillow, hoping to dream about Holland and John and adventures. 

\-----

"John." Sherlock whispered, poking at John's shoulder. 

John blinked his eyes open and hummed. 

"John, wake up, somethings happened." Sherlock insisted. 

John sat up, alarmed, and looked over at Sherlock. The younger boy had pulled down the sheets and was appraising his prominent erection. John swallowed audibly and stared. 

"I've got an erection." Sherlock whispered. 

John laughed. "Yeah, I see that." 

"I haven't had one in ages." Sherlock added. 

"Okay." John replied, not sure at all what he was supposed to say. 

"I think I'll have a wank." Sherlock said flatly. 

"Oh, Jesus." John whimpered. 

"You can watch if you'd like." Sherlock said. "I'm going to close my eyes, though." 

John licked his lips and nodded. "Yeah, I'll, um, I'll watch." 

Sherlock let his eyelids fall and gripped his prick. He started pulling at it slowly, just a slight up and down of his hand, and John's own hand fell to his cock. His prick was feeling quite sympathetic and started leaking precome. 

Over the next few minutes they wanked together as Sherlock kept his eyes closed and focused only on the physical sensation and John got closer and closer to orgasm watching his boyfriend fondle himself. When they did come it was near simultaneous. John cleaned them up with a wet flannel he retrieved from the loo while Sherlock lay boneless on the bed. 

"My legs won't work. Is that normal? I've forgot." Sherlock whispered breathlessly. 

John chuckled and cleaned up the semen coating his chest and neck. 

"Yeah, Sherlock, you're just fine." He said with a warm smile. 

"I think I might have to go back to sleep." Sherlock said with a frown. "I'm exhausted." 

John kissed him on the forehead and checked the time. It was over an hour before they had to get up so he pulled the covers back onto the bed from where they had gathered on the floor and dragged Sherlock into a sleepy embrace. 

"Go to sleep, Sher. We've got time." He whispered. 

Sherlock nodded and immediately drifted off. John kissed his shoulder and closed his eyes. He wouldn't be able to stay awake either.


	19. Actually Quite Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, that would be telling.

When they woke for the second time it was light out. John went to get out of bed but was pulled back in by a sleepy Sherlock. He chuckled and kissed the head of messy curls. 

"I really have to get up." He said. 

Sherlock sighed and let him go. John went to the en suite and brushed his teeth with the extra brush. He turned on the water and was about to get into the shower when Sherlock peeked his head around the corner. 

"I forgot to tell you!" He exclaimed. 

"Forgot to tell me what?" John asked, getting in and talking with his head out the door. 

"I'm coming to school with you today! Mummy set it up. I told her I was unhappy at my current school and she believed me. I am, of course. She agreed to let me take a day and tour the campus. The chancellor said yes." Sherlock said without taking a breath. "I hope you don't mind." 

John grinned and shook his head. "Of course I don't mind! Now, get in the shower." 

Sherlock walked in and brushed his teeth before joining John under the hot spray. He closed his eyes and let John wash his hair and put in conditioner. The shorter boy scrubbed up and down his back and began washing his own hair. By the time they were washed and rinsed Sherlock was almost asleep again. 

"Come on, out you go." John said cheerfully. 

Sherlock grumbled and walked soaking wet to the bedroom with John running after him. John wrapped the towel around him and led him to the bed, where he dried Sherlock's hair and then his own. Sherlock managed to get dressed without John noticing and was soon ready to leave. 

"I'll grab us something to eat on the way and meet you down the street." Sherlock said. 

John nodded and slipped out the bedroom door and down the back stairs. When he walked into the garage he was horrified to find their driver shining the wheels of the car. 'Did people still do that?', was his first thought. 'I'm buggered.', was his second. Instead of grilling him the man just nodded and went about his business. 

By the time Sherlock came out with a few pasties and an apple John was really getting nervous. What would happen if the man told Mrs Holmes about him coming from the house at such an early hour? What if Mrs Holmes got mad and said he couldn't go on the trip? 

Sherlock saw his agitation from far away. When he got close he handed the food over and started walking. John jogged to keep up. 

"I shouldn't have asked to come to your school. It's obviously making you upset. I'll just head to mine." Sherlock said curtly. 

"That's not what's making me upset. Your driver saw me sneaking out."

"Oh, Henry?" Sherlock asked, voice one of curiosity and not trepidation. 

"I don't know. Old man with white hair and a moustache."

"Yeah, that's Henry. It isn't the first time he's caught you, just the first you've seen. He came to me after our first sleep over and told me he was happy that I was happy. Said he'd keep our secret."

John's shoulders dropped from their stressed position and he smiled. "Thank god. I thought he was going to tell your mum once I was gone." 

"No. He's a good man. Plus, he owes me a favor. I helped prove that his neighbors poisoned his dog by the chemicals they kept in the shed. Saved him a three hundred pound vet bill."

John laughed and shook his head. "You are quite brilliant!" 

Sherlock shrugged and they kept on their way. 

\-----

By the time they got to John's school Sherlock had eaten half the apple and John had eaten the other as well as both pasties. They walked onto the campus and to the chancellor's office. The secretary looked genuinely pleased to see John and went to knock on the chancellor's door. When she came back she pulled a bowl of sweets from the top drawer and offered them to the boys. 

"How are you doing, John?" She asked. 

"Fine, ma'am." He said, grabbing a butterscotch sweet from the bowl. 

"And how are your studies?" She added. 

"Fine ma'am. This is my friend Sherlock. He's shadowing me today." John replied, anxious to get away from the subject of his studies. 

She smiled at Sherlock and pushed the bowl once again under his nose. 

"No...thank you." Sherlock said clumsily, 'thank you' not being a phrase he kept close at hand. 

"Well it's good to meet you, Sherlock, I just know you'll like it here." she remarked with a clap of her hands. 

Sherlock wondered what illicit substances the woman must be on to be this excited about a school day. Going by her outfit and hair, he decided it probably wasn't anything more than an almost lethal dose of caffeine and religion that kept her like this. 'Praise Jesus', he thought. 

Just then the door opened and a short woman in a powder blue dress came out. She ushered them in and John sat next to Sherlock while she bustled around the room. She brought them both a cup of tea and sat back at her desk. 

"Just this once, dears, I'm not your housekeeper." She said kindly. 

"Sherlock, this is Mrs Hudson." John said, taking up his cup and blowing across the surface. 

Sherlock nodded and took a sip of his tea. "This is actually quite good." 

Mrs Hudson sat back with a smile. "It's nice to meet you too, Sherlock Holmes."

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank every one of my readers for their support. If you have personal insight on asexuality or asexual relationships, I'd be happy to talk with you. Constructive criticism and brit picking as always welcome. 
> 
> If you're concerned they are falling for each other too fast remember they are teenagers. First love is always a roller coaster.


End file.
